


A Night to Forget

by Kyle_Swings_Blue_and_Gray



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Car Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, My First Fanfic, Party, Smut, Top Kavinsky, Underage Drinking, car kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyle_Swings_Blue_and_Gray/pseuds/Kyle_Swings_Blue_and_Gray
Summary: “I don’t do drugs.” Kavinsky’s sharkline grin only grows.“Oh, princess, I know. But I think you’ll like what this one does.” He leans closer to Ronan, until Ronan can taste the alcohol on his breath. “After all,” Kavinsky whispers, “you already know how tonight is going to end, and I thought you might like one extra excuse for tomorrow..” Ronan takes the little pill.





	A Night to Forget

The bass sent mild chills down Ronan’s spine as he wove his way through all the other lost souls in this godforsaken field. Ronan himself wasn’t lost; to be lost, it would have had to have been an accident. Ronan snagged a beer from a cooler, and began to mechanically drink it. His eyes scanned the crowd, snagging on every white shirt and every gleaming chain. Ronan moved past the thundering speakers, the Bulgarian rap thrumming in his chest. It was all the encouragement Ronan needed. Ronan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but his eyes snapped up, his gaze dragging across the crowd. His eyes alighted on a blotch of white, distorted slightly by the lights, the people, and the second beer in Ronan’s hand. His gaze zoned in on the figure sprawled on the hood of the white Mitsubishi, the white of Kavinsky’s teeth winking at him. As he approached the car, Kavinsky lept from the hood of his car.   
“Lynch! I thought you’d forgotten about me!” Ronan takes another gulp of his beer, both to shed the responsibility of what was about to happen, and to pretend he hadn’t come here for Kavinsky, but was merely stopping in and humoring Kavinsky by walking over. “So cold, princess,” Kavinsky cooed, plucking the beer from Ronan’s hands and tossing it away. “I can fix that.” His breath ghosts across Ronan’s face, and he resists pulling back, or leaning forward, or something. Ronan’s brain is a wreck, and he could barely be considered buzzed by his own standards.   
“What do you want?” K beams, plucking something from the pocket of his jeans with a flourish.   
“What do I want, Lynch? I want you to test a little...something I’ve been working on.” He holds out the pill, and Ronan wrinkles his nose.   
“I don’t do drugs.” Kavinsky’s sharkline grin only grows.  
“Oh, princess, I know. But I think you’ll like what this one does.” He leans closer to Ronan, until Ronan can taste the alcohol on his breath. “After all,” Kavinsky whispers, “you already know how tonight is going to end, and I thought you might like one extra excuse for tomorrow..” Ronan takes the little pill. It’s an offensive orange color. Ronan hates the color orange. He snatches the red solo cup from K’s hand, downing the pill and the cup’s contents in one go. Kavinsky smirks. “Wanna blow this joint? Or do want to put on a show for the rest of my guests?” Ronan glares in K’s direction, but climbs into the passenger side of the Mitsu without much hesitation. His heart is already beating too quickly, but that could just be the atmosphere, and the anticipation. Kavinsky slings himself into the driver’s side, and shifts the car into drive without a key, slamming the pedal and sliding out of the field in a messy careen that has Ronan’s blood singing in his veins. Kavinsky lets out a joyous whoop, glancing at Ronan with a almost childlike look of delight. The cruel curve of Ronan’s mouth can’t help but pull up into a sharp smile as they roar off down the road. Ronan’s head is spinning, and his skin feels superheated. Adrenaline courses through his body, hitting him in waves.   
Kavinsky’s hand snakes its way across to Ronan’s thigh, giving it a squeeze that has Ronan hardening on the spot. “It’s starting.” Ronan thinks with a bit of a thrill. His skin now feels two sizes too small. His breathing is starting to come faster, and his cock is straining against his jeans in a way that is fast becoming unbearable. Kavinsky slides his hand up further, groping Ronan through his jeans. Ronan gasps involintarially, bucking up against the press of K’s hand. Kavinsky smirks nastily.   
“Oh, what’s this? For me? Lynch, you shouldn’t have!” Ronan grits his teeth, gripping the arms of the seat with white knuckles.   
“How long does this last?” He gets out between rapid breaths, Kavinsky gives his another squeeze,   
“Oh, long enough for me to fuck you ragged.” Ronan’s breath catches, and Kavinsky laughs, continuing. “You like that, Lynch? You want me to fuck you so hard you flinch every time you sit down tomorrow? You want me mark your neck so that every time Dick III looks at you, he’ll think of you, and me?” Ronan is trembling in his seat. His boxers are damp with precome, and he thinks if he doesn’t get some friction, he’ll rip right out of his skin.   
The car stops as quickly as it started. One moment, they’re soaring down open highway, and the next, Kavinsky is pulling the car over into another abandoned field, similar to the one that this whole mess had started at. He wasted no time in exiting the Mitsu, clamoring into the backseat with Ronan, where they met like two armies clashing together in the war of the century. Ronan pushed K back against the door, knocking his head against the glass, but Kavinsky just laughed. Ronan shut him up in a hurry, smashing their lips together and pressing his tongue into K’s mouth as he ground down into his lap. K stroked his long fingers up Ronan’s sides, sending shivers rushing through Ronan as his shirt rucked up past his nippes. K ducked down to suck Ronan’s nub into his mouth, swirling his tongue and making Ronan moan and shake and curse loudly. K slid one hand down to Ronan’s ass, grabbing a fistfull and using his leverage to pull Ronan closer. His other hand wrapped up and around to scratch at the prickles of Ronan’s hair. Ronan can feel the spring coiling in his stomach, the heat building and pulsing in his crotch, but just as he’s about to pull K off and insist on a position change, K slides pulls insistently on Ronan, and Ronan slides all the way down, so his crotch is pressed to K’s midsection, and the resulting friction is enough to push Ronan over the edge.   
Ronan’s hips jerk, and he feels himself shoot all over the insides of his boxers. K slowly stops, and pulls back to look up at Ronan, who is pink about the ears and breathing hard as he blinks stars out of his vision.   
“Did you just come in yours pants, Lynch?” Kavinsky asks softly, and Ronan refuses to meet his eye, ears growing pinker. “You did, didn’t you?” K laughs, but it’s brief. His pupils are blown with arousal, and his breathing is labored. “Just like a some horny virgin!” He continues, but now he’s pushing Ronan back against the seat, and stripping off his shirt. Ronan struggles out of his, if only to have something to do. Kavinsky looms over his reaching out spider-like hands to slide down Ronan’s zipper, followed by Ronan’s pants and his ruined briefs. Ronan’s blood is starting to boil again, his cock hardening at an impossible rate, considering he just came. Kavinsky pulls out a tube of lube from his back pocket. “Get on your hands and knees, facing away from me. Ronan obeys, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The first finger is an intrusion, stinging his entrance. The lube is too cold, and Ronan shudders with the shock of it all. The discomfort only lasts a minute. He’s hot, too hot, with his cock aching between his legs. When Ronan begins to push back against K’s fingers, Kavinsky adds a second, followed shortly by a third. As he thrusts in and out, and curls his fingers slightly, hitting a spot that makes Ronan see stars. As he works, Ronan can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the heat building up. This time, he’s able to grunt a warning before shooting all over the upholstery of the car. He collapses slightly against the window, the cool glass grounding him somewhat. He can hear Kavinsky groan behind him. “Fuck Princess. That’s so hot. It’s so hot that you can’t help yourself. So fucking hot.” He can feel Kavinsky’s hand at his hip, and the next moment Kavinsky is pushing inside him. Ronan groans low, his dick filling again, even faster than before. The insane thought “If this keeps going, I’ll explode!” crashes through his brain unbidden as Kavinsky thrusts deeper, hitting Ronan’s prostate randomly, not giving Ronan a chance to recover himself. “You’re so hot Lynch.” Kavinsky mutters in Ronan’s ear. “So hot when you’re all hard and desperate for me.” He reaches around, inserting two fingers into Ronan’s mouth. Ronan sucks them in, grazing them with his teeth, and Kavinsky jerks his hips forward with a gasp, coming inside Ronan. Ronan nearly collapses forward again as Kavinsky slumps on top of him, and Ronan brings a hand up to pump himself to the finish, spilling over his fist with a drawn out groan. Kavinsky mouths at his shoulder blade, and Ronan pushes them back, so they can lay down, tangled against the leather seats. Kavinsky never stayed after sex, but sometimes they would lie like this for hours, wishing the morning away.   
Ronan’s introspection is cut short as he feels blood rushing south for probably the millionth time tonight. He groans, his exhaustion warring with his arousal. Kavinsky presses messy kisses to his neck.   
“Lynch, you’re insatiable. I should patten that little pill. Ronan groans again,   
“Just touch me, you asshole, and if you do, don’t make it fucking orange!” Kavinsky cackles, bringing his hand down to stroke Ronan firmly. This time, it’s like a dull ache of pleasure, building slowly and spilling over with a gush, not a bang. Kavinsky pumps Ronan through it. “How long will this last?” Ronan demands when he finally catches his breath. Kavinsky rubs Ronan’s thighs, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of his discarded jeans,   
“I’d say we have another hour at least. Proko made it half an hour after that, but he wasn’t drunk. Ronan starts to protest that he’s not drunk, but the rush of arousal cuts him off, forcing a groan from his lips. This is going to be a night to forget, and from what Kavinsky has said, its not even close to over. Ronan feels his heart rate pick up, as he accepts the cigarette from Kavinsky.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first fic, and I had a lot of fun writing. Ronan and K are what got me on this sight, so it seems fitting that I should write about them first.


End file.
